Cherry Wine
by A.SnowF
Summary: Some birds are meant to be caged, and those birds are meant to die. She was never one of them. The FBI didn't understand it, not before it was too late. They only knew how to cage her. But bars were never enough to hold her down. So off her cage she shall fly, with the only other bird that ever understood her.
1. I

**Disclaimer :** All rights belong to their owner.

 **Spoilers :** This fiction evokes some events of the whole series of books.

 **Rating :** T, for strong language and situations.

 **A/N :** Andrea's character is a personal building. Quite contrary to some of my other texts, I'm not here following the events of the books but drawing on some of them to create my own story. The updates may be a bit more erratic than my other fictions. This fiction will switch between "present" and "past" chapters, so don't be surprised.  
Anyway, as my mother language is (still) not English, I may or may not do spelling/grammar/conjugation/syntax mistakes, and I'm sorry if it disturbs you too much. I wish you a great reading, feel free to comment at any time !

* * *

 **Cherry Wine**

* * *

 **I**

When she opened her eyes, nothing had changed. It wasn't really surprising : it has been months she was there, and nothing ever changed. More precisely, four months and five days. It wasn't out of genius that she knew that. She only managed to keep up to date thanks to the newspaper she could get hands on. Most of the time, it was the prison guards that gave her theirs, once their day was over.

And it was almost funny to see that even outside, nothing changed. There were as many murders – it was just not the same people who committed them. And although they had dozen of murderers to catch, the FBI still desperately attempted to get her to spit the location of one of them. _As if I knew where he is,_ she thought, staring blankly at the roof.

Within five minutes, if the clock in the corridor were to be trusted, Will Graham would come. He would sit on the folding chair leaning on the wall. He would cross his arms and wait approximately two more minutes before asking the same question over again. She would then sat in front of him, on the edge of what was called her bed. She would make some general remark on yesterday's weather, or on the TV programs, depending on what kind of newspaper she had read. He would lose patience. He would leave, promising that she wouldn't get away with it this easily. And she would come back to her reading of the day's newspaper.

At least, it's how things would go if nothing changed. When she heard Jack Crawford's powerful voice, at the other end of the corridor, she guessed that no, things wouldn't go like this. She sat and waited for him to come closer, cross-legged on her mattress. _Or whatever bears that name, anyway._

He had aged. At least, he looked like he had aged. He had huge dark-circles under the eyes and he seemed to struggle only to bear the folding chair. He only granted her a gaze once he was sitting and once he'd gotten rid of his trench coat.

Back then, an eternity before, this man had been some kind of a mentor. A man she looked up to like a student her professor. He had shaped her the way he imagined a great investigator to be – obedient but incisive, bright but submissive. But another man destroyed this pretty working and reinvented her. She had evolved. She had adapted.

"Hello, Jack," she greeted him with a raspy voice. She didn't really have the opportunity to use it. "I almost thought you would never come.

\- I'd rather not have come.

\- You're vexing me."

She shrugged. He didn't react. _Was he already this old, when I met him ?_ She couldn't remember. It'd been so long, since the time she taught at the University of Bristol. And it'd been even longer since the day he came to her and asked if she wanted to be part of his team, in Baltimore. Why had she accepted, by the way ? _Pride_ , a voice she hadn't heard since four months and five days whispered. She couldn't help but smile.

From the beginning, it hadn't been a good idea. He needed a strong team to find the Chesapeake Ripper – hiring a French should have looked like a great idea, given the guy's supposed genealogy. Hiring an international law specialist should have looked like an even greatest idea, given his tendency to strike everyone. But accepting, that wasn't a good idea. She knew it, but it hadn't stopped her from doing it.

"Why are you here, dear Jack, if you don't want to be here ?

\- 'Cause a part of me still believes you're redeemable.

\- Not the most lucid part," she laughed. "Do you really think you'll manage to do what you little protégé fails to do almost daily ?

\- No. But I think I can succeed where I failed."

She narrowed her eyes. She wasn't an empath, contrary to Will, and she wasn't a psychiatrist like Lecter. She wasn't able to guess what people thought. That being said, she had passed enough time around these two to be able to decrypt those people's reactions.

But she didn't need all that to feel all the regret and remorse in his voice. She could have softened herself and eased his existence. But it was partly his fault if she was there : having remorse was the least he could feel toward her.

"You're going to have be a more specific, you have failed to do plenty of things.

\- To protect you," he answered without reacting. "I failed to protect, Will and you. This time…

\- This time, what ? You want to get me out of here ? Give me my freedom back ?" She burst into laughter. "Oh, Jack. You should take time off, you desperately need it.

\- You… You don't know ?"

She frowned and shook her head. She had no idea what she didn't know, but it seems that he came specifically because of this thing she didn't know. _Well, well. What is going on in the FBI ?_

Had he been fired ? That could mean plenty of things, for her. And for him. Maybe she would never see him again and it was his very last try to catch Lecter ? If it was the case, well, it was a failure. Maybe all the team was dismantled and Will was giving up ? A good thing. He was perhaps the only agent in this god-forsaken agency capable of finding Hannibal.

"I'm not going to beg you to tell me, if that's what you're waiting for," she sighed. "I can survive without knowing your plans.

\- These are not mine, they're Will's.

\- And what does Will want ?

\- To transfer you. In Pelican Bay."

Her smile froze and she spotted drumming her fingers on her knee. As a jurist the slightest bit interested in humanitarian questions, she knew the State Prison of Pelican Bay. But she had a slightly more advanced knowledge of it thanks to the FBI, and it wasn't for the best.

It wasn't a woman's prison. That was all she could think about, for some seconds. And that's all she said to Crawford. He looked dumbfounded to hear that remark.

"Indeed," he said, slowly. "But it's also…

\- The prison in which the majority of the guys we arrested are locked up.

\- Will wants to transfer you, once he would have proven you're mentally sane." He gulped. Hardly. "The State Attorney already gave his consent."

She couldn't help but laugh, again. Among every beings on this planet, it was _William Graham_ who couldn't stand her and lost it. _Hannibal would be proud,_ she thought, shaking her head. Oh, she knew what that transfer meant. She was well-treated, here : it was more or less a psychiatric hospital, they treated prisoners like patients.

There, she would just be a monster amongst others. A monster responsible for a _great_ number of arrests that led a _great_ number of men behind this prison's bars. It wasn't complicated : Will wanted to turn the screws on her and make her speak. He had just unknot the sword of Damocles above her head and threatened her to cut the last noose. But he hadn't taken into account the most obvious element.

"There's nothing funny, Andrea. You're going to…

\- Die there, most probably." She smiled even more. "Oh, Jack. But I'm not scared of death.

\- There's still a way. If you talk, I can help you.

\- If I tell you where Lecter is, you'll free me ?"

He nodded. There was so much sincerity in the way he was staring at her, so much naivety. It clashed with his age, with his face's gravity. She kept quiet and stared back at length. He really believed it. And he still believed he had a chance, and perhaps it was the worst.

She stood up and got closer to the pane that separated them. She sat in front of him, on the cold ground of her cell. He came closer as well, unnoticed. He really believed she was going to talk. A hazy feeling of sadness invaded her spirit for a second, just enough for her to realize how pathetic the scene was.

"You would free a murderer ?

\- You didn't…

\- You don't know. You want to believe the only thing I did was following him." She shook her head. "Wishful thinking.

\- You're not like him, you've never been. How could you have let him change you ?

\- Let _him ?_ "

This time, her laugh was so enthusiastic that it echoed all around her and reverberated on the four walls of her cell. She could almost feel Crawford's shivering of awe. His pupils were narrowing. _He's scared._ As if she could do anything, in her plastic and concrete cage.

But it was hilarious, really, how he could think he was above any guilt. How he held Hannibal responsible of absolutely everything that happened to her and everything that happened to Will before her. As if he couldn't stand any pitch of guilt.

"So you still haven't learn," she sighed, almost admiring. "You have the most stunning ability to lie to yourself, Jack.

\- I'm not responsible for what happened to Will, and I'm not responsible for what you became.

You're responsible for absolutely everything that happened since I joined the FBI. _You_ introduced me to Hannibal. _You_ asked me to interrogate him, once Will finally caught him. _You_ let Will take care of Dolarhyde. _You_ let me fall into Hannibal's claws. _You_ never did anything to prevent anything from happening." She stood again to face him, her thinner body motionless. "So you can have regrets, Jack, that's the least you can do. But I'm not helping you ease your conscience."

A tiny voice in her head was angered that she was rejecting the proposal of the last man inside the FBI that still cared about her, but she quieted it. She wasn't an agent anymore, she wasn't an investigator. He wasn't her superior, she wasn't his subordinate. This chapter was over.

She had turned the page the day she almost died to prevent Hannibal, on the run back then, from being caught. When she literally threw herself between him and the FBI's bullets – when she let him take her with him. What followed belonged to another chapter she preciously kept hidden in her memory, where no one would steal or taint it.

"So go, and tell our dear Will that he can send me to Guantanamo that it wouldn't change a thing. And go on vacation, Jack.

\- Andrea…

\- Farewell, agent Crawford." She slightly smiled and waited for him to have stood up to add. "Give Bella my regards."

He froze for a couple of seconds, as if shot, before going on with his gestures. He fled quickly. Her eyes followed him and she went back on her bed. _So I'm going to die._ The idea seemed weird. Almost surreal. All these months of run away almost had her lost conscience of her mortality. It wasn't painful, just unpleasant. Like a wound she would have forgotten since years and that would remind her of its existence just now.

Still, she always had a sharp conscience of her existence's fragility, conscience which hadn't ceased to grow until she actually came close to death. Since then, it was like the burden of mortality had lifted, that she had freed herself from this fear by almost dying. Automatically, she touched the scar on her abdomen. It wasn't painful either. Nothing was painful anymore.

She crossed her legs and closed her eyes. Her life's book had numerous chapters. Every each one of them ended on a death. She knew these chapters by heart : the first one ended with her family's death. The second one, with her colleague's death, in Bristol. The third one, with Dolarhyde's death. The fourth, with hers – at least, with what could have been hers. The fifth… Would it end on her second death ?

She vaguely smiled and collapsed on the mattress. She wasn't going to sleep. She had too many things to remember before going to Pelican Bay. It was the only place she could find Hannibal : in her memory place he helped her build.


	2. 1

**Cherry Wine**

* * *

 **1**

Waking up was an ordeal. It was like trying to get out some sort of a oil slick made of clay, mud, everything that could be heavy and stifling. Opening her eyes was a success ; managing to straighten up her head, a master piece. It had taken her at least five minutes to get to that result.

And there was her belly. She didn't feel it. To be honest, she didn't feel much thing. She wouldn't have been able to identify the fabric on which she was lying nor the one that covered her. She wouldn't have been able to identify the smell that floated around either, even if she guessed it was some kind of antiseptic. The roof above her was finely crafted. A bit too much, for what she believed to be a hospital room.

"You're awake."

This remark sounded like a gong to her ears and she tensed. There was a hissing – a door, probably, and the voice's owner appeared. She recognized him. She couldn't move, so she didn't try to do it. The man stared at with an impressing seriousness.

But he didn't impress her. She was used to this seriousness. She gulped with difficulty and frowned. That also was an ordeal. He moved a glass of water in which a straw was sitting to her lips. Vaguely humiliated but with a so terribly dry throat, she drunk. It took her several tries, she almost choked almost as many times as she actually managed to swallow water, but he persevered until he considered she had had enough.

"The bullet that penetrated your abdomen has been taken out," he said with a really gentle voice. He put the glass back on the table and, with the corner of a towel, he wiped the water of her cheeks. "You have lost blood.

\- How…" She croaked more than she talked. That also was difficult. "Many…

\- Don't worry about that for now. Can you read that ? Don't speak, blink two times to say yes, one time to say no."

She lowered her eyes on the paper he held in front of her. It was a quote. She recognized it immediately. _La lune blanche luit dans les bois ; de chaque branche par une voix sous la ramée. L'étang reflète, profond miroir, la silhouette du saule noir où le vent pleure. Un vaste et tendre apaisement semble descendre du firmament que l'astre irise. O bien aimé, rêvons c'est l'heure, c'est l'heure exquise._ Verlaine.

She made him read this poem, back when their conversation were those they had through his pane's cell. She had given him a copy of the poem on butcher paper, among other sheets he was authorized to use to draw. _It's the copy, actually,_ she realized when she saw the sheet folding. She blinked two times, slowly.

"Est-ce que vous comprenez clairement ce que je vous dis ?" She blinked two times. "We're going to make a test. From now on, you only blink once to say yes. Understood ?" Blink. "Good. Do you remember what happened ?" Hesitation. Blink. "Vaguely ?" Blink. "You remember who I am ?" Blink. Fast. Vague smile. "Good. You remember who you are ?"

She blinked. He nodded and wrote something on a paper sheet before touching her drip that went directly in her arms. _Ah, the smell… It's morphine._ That's why she didn't feel anything. She looked at him from the corner of her eyes. He seemed to be quiet well and in a good mood, for someone escaping FBI.

 _I'm escaping it too,_ she realized a few seconds later. A sudden panic went through her and she felt her heart going mad. She struggled to keep her eyes opened and he had to tell her to calm down for her to come back. She was escaping the FBI. What did she do ? She had betrayed them for… For… Him ? To protect his life ? It wasn't worth it. Eyes wide open, she stared at him when he bended to her. For a moment, a very short moment, she wondered if she was going to die, this time. But he just put his head on her chest, where her heart was.

"Don't take it personally, Andrea, I've put way too much time trying to keep you alive to see you die of a stroke.

\- You…

\- I know your mouth is your greatest weapon," he smiled while standing up again. "But don't speak. Get some rest.

\- Why…" She winced. Every word was a struggle and her throat was a battlefield. "Why ?"

There was a long silent. Her voice was raspy, as if her vocals cords had been ripped apart, but she knew she was understandable. And she was certain that he had understood her. But he didn't answer, at least not before a great length of time. His dark eyes hadn't left hers. She had lived through this way too many times to be impressed. He didn't want to answer.

And he would not answer. And if he did, it would be by some convoluted way to make her understand he would not answer. It was always like that when she got too close to him. The contrary was also true.

"You asked me to get you out of there," he finally answered. "I did it." She shoo her heard very slowly – a surreal ordeal. "If your question was rather to know why you asked me to do such a thing, I regret but I still don't know the answer." He caressed her cheek with one of his light, cold fingers and disappeared. "Have some rest, Andrea."

Her eyes tried to follow him before hearing the door's hissing and the _click_ of the lock. She closed her eyes. A tear went down her face. She didn't know if it was because she was worn-out, sad or terrified. She wasn't even sure it was one of the three. _I'm at his mercy. He could do anything with me._

Yes, he could, but he didn't. Crawford never believed her when she said she didn't risk anything with him – and he was right, given the circumstances. She wasn't so sure she ever really believed this statement. It was an arrogant way to remind him she was the only person able to approach Hannibal Lecter and talk to him more than a few minutes.

But now she was there, stuck on this bed, surrounded by all these drips, weak to the point of not being able to speak and the only person around was no other than _him._ And instead of feeling threatened, terrified, she was _ashamed_ to be this fragile in front of him. _He will never do me any harm,_ she thought. _At least not when I'm this weak._ She gulped and couldn't help but smile to the idea that the only place she could be safe was there, under the surveillance of the man she had tried to understand for months.

The same man she had helped to escape and to survive, to the sacrifice of her own survival. This idea, however, terrified her. She had fallen into his trap in an incredibly wrier way than Will Graham back then or anyone else. And this idea haunted her until she finally fell into this coma-sleep she was drowning in since weeks.


	3. II

**A/N :** MajorBachman : Thank you very much for your reviews ! I hope my choice to not include Clarice will not disturb your reading too much. By the way, the previous chapter was a chapter which happened in the past - before Andrea got caught by the FBI and put into her cell. Every two chapters will be set in her past (every chapter those title is in Arabic numeral). Anyway, I hope you'll like this chapter !

* * *

 **Cherry Wine**

* * *

 **II**

"I was starting to get worried, Will, you're two days late."

She smiled, lying on her mattress. She only turned her head when she heard the chair's characteristic scraping. Will Graham. Jack Crawford's best asset. _Or rather, former best asset._ Since Dolarhyde, there was nothing in him that could be named an asset. He used to be smart ; he was now a maniac. He used to be a decent guy ; he was now constantly in a blind rage against everything that was even distantly related to Lecter. He used to be healthy ; he was now an alcoholic. She suspected him to be addicted to some pain-killer as well, seeing how his hands were shaking. _Or maybe he's just stressing out._

And he used to be handsome. What remained of his face now looked like some sick and incomplete jigsaw. One of his eyes was punctured and had been replaced by a glass globe that looked remotely like his original one… But not quite. It gave his gaze this terrifying side she just began to get used to. He used to have those two gentle blue eyes ; now only one, and the way it stared at her would have given goose bumps to anyone but her.

And the two of them used to be a thing. They weren't exactly together, but they weren't apart either. They weren't a couple, but they were more than fuck buddies. Even after what happened between him and Hannibal, the first time, when he managed to get him arrested and almost died in the process, there was something between them. None of them ever bothered to give this something a name. And when she started to wonder what it was, it was already gone.

If ever she'd had any doubts about it, looking at Will was enough to be rather sure. She couldn't remember any occasion on which he had looked at anyone or anything like that ; as if she was some kind of a plague, some disgusting critter.

"Jack told me about your little plans. If you wanted to take me on vacation, you could have asked. Pelican Bay wouldn't have been my first choice, but why not ? I miss the sun anyway.

\- I don't think you're going to see it ever again," his raspy voice replied, sharply. "That's enough of your games, Andrea. Either you talk or we let you die there.

\- We ? But who's we ? You, and your dear State Attorney ? What's his name, anyway ?"

She titled her head and smiled again. Will didn't, obviously. He wasn't actually the only man who came to her and tried to make her speak. Dr Alan Bloom, one of her former colleagues and one of the many psychiatrists who tried to profile Hannibal and absolutely didn't understand why he was so talkative with her and not with them, used to come. He stopped when she reminded him Hannibal and she knew where his beloved daughter lived with her husband and infant child. Idle threat, in truth : she didn't want to threaten the girl and her family's lives. She just wanted to be left alone from him and his stupid questionnaire.

But Will didn't fear her. He had no one. His life was no longer a life. Death would be gift, a blessing more than a curse to him. So, gradually, he became the only one who ever visited her. The first time, he wasn't so confident. He still thought that maybe she'd been abused – kidnapped and the liking. _Well, he quickly realized there was no use of such wishful thinking._

"Don't think it's my decision only. The psychological team thinks that…

\- I need to be killed in order for you to find Lecter." She laughed. Cruelly. "You used to be a little bit more insightful, Will. This is a poor reasoning.

\- They believed you were going to speak.

\- And what do you believe ?"

A lingering silent answered. He frowned – or she guessed he did. It wasn't like he really had eyebrows anymore. He probably wasn't used to this kind of conversation anymore – they hadn't talked this much since two months, at least. Most of the time, she just stared at him, waiting for him to lose it and scream. But he didn't look angry. He looked tired. _Then there's still some of his old self in this broken body._ But he didn't look any less convinced of his decision.

"I believe you're not going to talk.

\- So you just want me dead, then," she retorted. _And I'm not even surprised anymore._ "Hannibal would be so proud.

\- You chose this the day you chose him.

\- Are you jealous, Will ?

\- No. Because to me, you're already dead. I already grieved."

The coldness in his voice almost sent shivers down her spine. Hannibal Lecter had changed them. She sometimes thought it was for the best ; she felt powerful, more powerful than ever even in front of her more-than-likely future murderer. But when it came to Will… Hannibal had transformed her. He had shaped her. But he hadn't broken her – he had broken Will. Ruined him. Left him in this state, this semi-madness, semi-life. This, more than his coldness, was terrifying. _Hannibal Lecter is able to do that._

"Why are you here, if you're so willing to have me dead ? I'm not going to beg for my life.

\- I know. But I wanted to see you one last time." He shook his head, slowly. "To see if there was still some things of the woman I loved in you.

\- Then I hope you're happy with what you see.

\- No, I'm not. Things could have been so different."

 _Yes, they could have._ She could have left Hannibal to the FBI forces. She would most probably be in the same room, but on the other side of the pane. She would probably speak to someone, but this someone would be Lecter. And she would probably still die, but not by the same hand.

But in any case, what they had was gone since even before her escape with Hannibal. It was gone since the day he opened his eyes, in his hospital room, after Dolarhyde. But since none of them had ever wanted to acknowledge what used to be, none of them wanted to realize that it was no more.

"Not between us, Will. If I'm dead to you since my escape, then you're dead to me since Dolarhyde. Will Graham died that day.

\- So Hannibal killed both of us. How convenient.

\- You let him kill you. He didn't want you to die.

\- No, he wanted me to become a murderer," he replied. "Just like he wanted you to become one."

She didn't answer. She stared back. Blankly. There was nothing she could say. Maybe what he meant was right – maybe he would have destroyed her as he destroyed Will if she hadn't been compliant with his wills. Maybe not. How would she know ? Will sighed and shook his head again.

"I wish we never met him. And I wish you didn't let him enter your mind.

\- And I wish you never became the monster you've been trying so bad not to become.

\- You're not him," he spat out. "You'll never be, no matter how hard you'll try.

\- And you're not a good guy. No matter how hard you try to make me believe you are."

He stood up. She didn't move. Why would have she ? She wouldn't have been able to go anywhere anyway. He walked closer to the pane and put his hand on the glass. She looked at this hand for a long time. But she didn't come. _I don't care about his regrets._ He wanted her dead ? Fine. But she wouldn't ease the idea. If she was to die, she was to die as she lived – against all odds. And all conventions.

"Hannibal often speaks about you. He hopes you're doing well.

\- I don't…

\- He's going to be so disappointed that you betrayed me. That you betrayed _him_ , again." She smiled. And closed her eyes. "Farewell, Will. We'll see each other again in the seventh circle."

He didn't answer. She heard his footsteps getting more and more distant and then nothing. Silent again. She gulped and tried to remember who Will used to be, before everything turned to a nightmare. There was a room, in her memory palace, tightly closed, where she had stored every single memories of him. She never let Hannibal access it – it was something he couldn't touch. It was something no one could touch. It belonged to the past. But it was how she wanted to remember him.


	4. 2

**A/N :** Happy new year ! I hope 2017 will be a great year for all of you. Thank you for reading me and enjoy !

MajorBachman : Didn't I write it as a note of the very first chapter ? If I didn't, it's a mistake and i'm sorry for that. And I think this feeling of anticlimax is exactly what Andrea is feeling in front of Will : he used to be such a thing, such a mystery and, at some point, such a danger that she can only be disappointed by what he is now in front of her. But I do agree, though, it breaks the pace.

* * *

 **Cherry Wine**

* * *

 **2**

"So you think the Chesapeake ripper is… Among us ? Like, in the FBI ?

\- I don't _think_ so. I'm sure he is." He sighed and threw the file at the other side of the room. "The worst thing is that I'm also sure that he is among our team."

She gulped. She ran a hand across a face and tried to make sense to what he just said. She was part of the team since a year, now, and they'd been searching for the ripper since… Well, even longer. And now, Will was _sure_ that he was in the FBI, under their noses from the very beginning.

She was tired. Not only because she hadn't slept for two days – though it obviously influenced it, but she was also tired of _all this._ She wanted it to stop, to be _over._ She wanted vacations, she wanted to go back in Italy and visit Florence. _Damn Dr Lecter,_ she thought. He was always speaking of Italy and there she was, craving a journey there.

"Will…

\- I know it sounds crazy.

\- Who do you think it would be ?" She frowned. "You must have an idea.

\- I'm not sure."

 _He does have an idea._ She sighed. He wasn't going to say anything – or, rather, he wasn't going to let it out easily. She collapsed on the couch, next to him, and turned to face him. He look tired as well, but it was common sense. Will Graham was _always_ tired. Will Graham was _never_ in a good shape. Will Graham was able to feel _any_ emotions but simple happiness. It was the way he was. Lately, though, it only went worse.

But well. She wasn't exactly any better. She had gone from the pretty, joyful law professor to this worn-out, paranoiac investigator in a year. _Thanks, Jack._ That could be something that would interest Dr Lecter, by the way, he who already saw her a potential subject of study. She slightly smiled at the thought. He always said that both of them were anomalies on their own and that, together, they made such a strange mix that he didn't understand how they were still alive and, most importantly, _alive together._

"Tell me already, Will, we're not here to…

\- It's Hannibal, Andrea.

\- What ?" she stammered. "What do you mean it's…

\- Hannibal is the ripper."

She almost burst out laughing. But he was so deadly serious that she just couldn't. She was stuck in place. And she was staring, blankly. And he was staring at the wooden floor. _Hannibal ?_ It didn't make sense. He… She…

Somehow, though, it terribly made sense. The way he always knew what happened – the way he was never surprised. And all the things he told them. All the things he made them do. She always thought it was some kind of help. Could it be that it only was some twisted game ? She gulped. They had thought they were the chess players, moving their pawns and surrounding those of the ripper – could it be that, since the very beginning, _they were the pawns ?_

"It can't be, he's…

\- Driving us insane," he retorted. "Can't you see ? The things he tells us, the things he makes us do. It's alienating us from the rest of the FBI.

\- But no one…

\- That's the point. No one suspects him, except us. They think we're definitely delusional. We're completely insulated and we're trapped."

She shivered. _God it all makes sense._ It was all true. They only worked together, seldom with the rest of the team, since a few months. The only other person they worked with was _him._ And he was encouraging them to work together. And it was a vicious circle they never realised they were in in the first place.

And Jack didn't see anything either. A part of her couldn't see it yet. Dr Lecter was not… This was not the way she had pictured the ripper. _No… This is not the way he made me picture him._ She gritted her teeth. Was there anything true in the things she believed in ?

"How are we going to do this ?" she whispered, getting even closer to Will. He wrapped an arm around her waist. "If they don't believe us…

\- Then we'll have to do it alone. You regroup all our evidences, and I arrest him.

\- But we don't any evidence against him.

\- We do. We just need to read them… Differently."

She clung to his shirt, almost without realising it. She needed to think straight – she needed to think about the case. She closed her eyes and tried to list every single things they knew about the ripper. He was medically skilled – so was Lecter. _Not a proof. Dozen of doctors around._ He had a strong sense of art and refinement – so had Lecter. _Not a proof. So have I._ He attacked around the area. _Not a proof._ The organs he took from his victims were parts of recipes. _That doesn't…_ She opened her eyes violently.

"His recipe book.

\- What ?

\- The ripper takes edible organs from his victims," she said, quickly. "You always said that it was to cook them, we deduced he was a cannibal.

\- And you think Hannibal would write this in a recipe book ?

\- Do you remember the day we ate this Japanese fish, with him ?"

It was an incredibly pleasant evening. The fish was delicious – beyond delicious, really. Hannibal was in the kitchen, preparing the desserts, and she was walking past his huge bookcase, searching for his cookbook to steal the recipe. She was joking about it with Will when Lecter came back with his plates, smiling. She had taken the book and was going to open it when he snatched it from her hands, swiftly. _"A magician never reveals his tricks,_ " he said with a careful and somewhat icy gaze. She didn't insist. She just thought he didn't want people to copy him. _Copy him._

"We need to get hold of this book," he said. " _You_ need to.

\- What is your plan ?

\- We are supposed to see him tomorrow, right ?" She nodded. "I'll talk to him. You'll pretend you have to… I don't know, go to the bathroom, and you take the book.

\- I make sure it's an evidence and I text you.

\- And I arrest him. Somehow."

 _Trying not to get eviscerated,_ she thought. She shivered again and gulped. It was painful. Everything was painful, now that she had opened her eyes. She tried to say something but nothing came out of her mouth. So she just put her head on Will's shoulder. Tomorrow. _Maybe we'll die, tomorrow._ Maybe.

He took her hand in his and caressed it, lightly. It wasn't like them to be this cuddly. But she was scared, and so was he. He must have known since so much time, and he never told her about his doubts. _He wanted to protect me from him,_ she thought.

"If I die tomorrow," she said when he kissed her forehead. "Can you…

\- We're not going to die.

\- It's Hannibal. It's the ripper, Will.

\- And we're stronger than him." He caressed her cheek and kissed her. It was a deep, long kiss. It meant so many things – and at the same times, it only meant one. _Fear._ "We opened our eyes when he wanted them sewed closed."

She smiled and held him close to her. She felt his warmness, his heartbeats against hers. She brushed his hair, clinging to his shirt again, and kissed him again. And again. And again.

They made love on the couch, like two teenagers afraid that, soon, everything would end. It was hot, desperate. They made it last, but in the end, they lied together, intertwined, panting. She felt a tear running down her cheek when he fell asleep. _Is it going to happen ever again ?_ She rested her head on his chest and closed her eyes, swiping away the tear and trying to believe that tomorrow would not be the end of their world.

 _Poor us. We would soon know better._


	5. III

**A/N :** MajorBachman : Well I do hope the plot will please you :) In the meantime, I leave you with these questions that shall find answers sooner or later.

* * *

 **Cherry Wine**

* * *

 **III**

They came early in the morning. A way to unsettle her, perhaps. They surrounded her cell without even looking at her and waited for him to come. _Him, the State Attorney._ And he was exactly the way she imagined a State Attorney to look : stern, scornful, she could almost taste his disgust and his boredom from behind the pane.

She sat on the edge of her bed and tilted her head when he arrived. Black grey-ish hair, average eyes, average built. _Hannibal would say that he's making up for his cruel lack of beauty._ And intelligence – smart people became lawyers, judges, not State Attorney. _He looks like Chilton, doesn't he ?_ That could explain her instinctive repulsion.

"Professor Andrea Rochard," he greeted her with this fake smile that gave her the creeps. "Surely you know why we're here.

\- I haven't the slightest. Am I supposed to know you ?

\- I am John Mitchells, State Attorney of Maryland. I am here to discuss your transfer to the State Prison of Pelican Bay.

\- Discuss."

She smiled. He didn't react. _He's been warned._ But he wouldn't resist for too long – she already knew how to make him break a fuss. Undermine his authority. Hurt his pride. Make fun of his job – his coat, maybe. He seemed quite content of his coat. _It's too big for him. The guy doesn't know how to dress properly._ Lecter often told her that someone with off the peg or ill-adjusted clothes obviously had someone to hide. Often it was former poverty.

With his gleaming watch and his Brogues shoes – ugly, with that suit, it was obvious that he wasn't poor. But maybe he used to be. Or maybe he came from some new-money family. That could explain his total lack of fashion sense.

" _Discuss_ ," she repeated. "I don't think there's any room for negotiation, John Mitchells, State Attorney of Maryland. Will has been rather clear on the issue.

\- There is always room for negotiation. In your case, any new information leading to Hannibal Lecter's capture…

\- He would make quite a trophy, wouldn't he ?"

He gritted his teeth. Already. It wouldn't be that complicated, then. He turned to gesture one of his assistants to give him something – a file. It was hers. She could tell, she'd already seen it in many hands. _Including Hannibal's hands._ And Jack's. And hers, of course, when she accepted to become part of the FBI. She knew what was inside. Her entire past. All the gruesome details.

And he was going to try to use it against her. It was a poor technic. She was pretty sure Will told him not to do it. But the guy didn't care ; who was a crazy psychic to tell _him_ , the State Attorney of Maryland, what to do ? He knew his jobs, for Heaven's sake ! _Type of guys to say Heaven's sake, yes._ But she wasn't going to give him the pleasure. She sighed.

"Andrea Louise Rochard," she reeled out. "Daughter of Marie Louise Rochard, née Turnaud and Patrick Francis Rochard, older sister of Thomas Jules Rochard. All of them dead in an arson non-elucidated. Graduated valedictorian of the law faculty of Paris, Sorbonne. Obtained a PhD with honours. Worked as a law professor during three years in the University of Bristol. Recruited by special agent Jack Crawford. Instrumental in the first capture of Hannibal Lecter. Spent almost a year profiling him for the FBI. Instrumental in the killing of Buffalo Bill.

\- Helped Hannibal Lecter to escape. Ran away with him for seven months. Still refuse to say a thing about him. Is to be sent to Pelican Bay, one of the hardest prison of the United States. Probability of survival : around ten per cent.

\- You have learned your lessons pretty well, John. Congratulations. Have I learnt mine as well ?"

He fulminated, now. She smiled. Politely. But he was a grown-up man and once again, he'd been warned. _Hannibal would have wiped the floor with this goon._ She, on the other hand, wanted to play a little bit. It would probably be the last time she would have the opportunity to talk to someone. The guys in Pelican Bay didn't count – they wouldn't understand a word of what she would say.

"I gather," he managed to say after a while. "That you are not willing to tell us anything.

\- You gather well, John. Will didn't tell me, when did you get appointed ? Was it after your predecessor's failure to keep Hannibal behind bars ?

\- It is none of your concerns, professor…

\- It is, since you're the one who encouraged William Graham's latest lunacy."

Without a word, he opened her file and took some pages out of it. He put them in the sliding food trail and pushed them in her direction. She stared at it for a while before she actually came to take it. It was an evaluation, signed by no one else than dear old Graham. _Mine,_ she realised while reading it.

It wasn't the best profile he ever did, though. Many things were mere speculations, especially regarding the impact of her family's demise. She went through it quickly to see the result. _As a conclusion, we would deem Andrea Rochard to be sane and fitted to a jail's regime._ Why of course. A proper psychiatrist would have picked holes in this so-called profile, but it was more than enough for a petty politician as John Mitchells, wasn't it ? He was so _willing_ to pin her to his trophy cabinet. _And of course, adding Hannibal Lecter would be a nice extra._

"This report is crystal-clear, professor Rochard.

\- This _report_ ," she hooted with laughter. "You have no idea what you're talking about. This profile is bullshit. It says nothing.

\- It says enough for me.

 _\- Of course_ it says enough for you."

Her smile grew twisted, as well as her mind. She wasn't going to let him think he won this round. She wasn't going to let them all think they won this round or any other. She looked against at the papers and, slowly, she tore them apart. And he stared at her, stupidly, as a pig would stare at the slaughterhouse before getting _eviscerated._ When she threw all the tiny pieces of paper on the pane, he jumped.

She laughed. And walked closer to the pane. He stepped back. She walked even closer. He couldn't step back or he would walk on one of his bodyguard. Her eyes went from him to the said bodyguard. He looked older than the rest of the flock – a bit too old for this job. And too frail as well. His body wasn't so strong, but his eyes… _These eyes…_ She frowned, which added to the Attorney's fear. She came back to him.

"Of course," she repeated. "It would say enough for a petty, ludicrous and incompetent State Attorney. Too bad you know nothing of the law, John Mitchells, because I know damn well that what you're doing is not legal.

\- You're a murderer." _As if it explained anything._ "You're not going to get away with it thanks to your legal sham.

 _\- Legal sham…_ The judges will _adore_ that. What you're going to do will violate at least a dozen of international treaties and your fucking Constitution. Not that you American care anyway." She laughed. The bodyguard's eyes were gleaming with… _Pride ?_ "I just need a good lawyer and I'm going to go as free as a bird.

\- Some birds are meant to be caged."

She didn't say a word, properly shocked. The bodyguard had talked – _his voice !_ She blinked, startled. John Mitchells apparently didn't notice – he was as startled as her. Not really by the impromptu intervention of one of his men, though, but rather by her. But she didn't care. She couldn't care less.

She exchanged a gaze with the bodyguard. _You sneaky bastard. I've recognized you._ She had recognized him even before his intervention but she didn't want to believe it. _Certains oiseaux ne peuvent être mis en cage._ It was the original quote, said as they were eating on a terrace in Saint Petersburg. She was asking him what he would do if ever the FBI managed to get hold of him. _Je n'y retournerai jamais._ Little did he know that _she_ would go there in place of him. Little did she know as well. She gulped. She saw his eyes narrowing. _He's smiling._

"Those birds are meant to die. I am not.

\- You are," the Attorney spat out, breaking the spell _he_ had cast on her. "And you're going to.

\- Listen to me you little pompous imbecile. You're playing a game but do you even know its rules ?" She came even closer to the pane, staring directly at him. Her voice was charming, warm. "If you lose this game, _oh Lord,_ if you lose… This little career you're so proud of, _gone_. The child who put this paint on your shirt before you left home, _gone_. The wife that gave life to this child, poor woman, _gone._ This life you think you're controlling, _gone_.

\- You… You…

\- I ? I ?" She laughed uncontrollably. _Hannibal will get me out of here !_ Her heart was laughing, her mind was laughing, everything was laughing at the whole situation. "I'm not alone, John Mitchells, State Attorney of Maryland. I have never been."


	6. 3

**A/N :** MajorBachman : I do agree with you, maybe this scene should have been a bit longer. I'm trying to keep them shorter than I usually do, but I'll be more generous in the future.

Bone App the Teeth : Thank you very much for your compliments ! I hope you'll enjoy what comes next them.

* * *

 **Cherry Wine**

* * *

 **3**

Hannibal's office was of the luxury type – she could never get used to it. The couches were in leather, the carpet was thick, of the most beautiful turquoise, there were paintings hanging everywhere. And there were those incredible bookshelves in the mezzanine – psychiatric books, of course, but not only. There were French books, even some French _legal books._ She had joked about it with him, in occasions. And it was always warm, especially when it was freezing, outside. Somehow, it had become one of her favourite places.

But she wasn't there to enjoy the decorum. She was there to arrest its owner. Will, next to her, was looking especially relaxed. _Hannibal is going to notice – he must have noticed already._ She gritted her teeth, trying to listen to what they were saying. She couldn't. The only thing she could hear was her blood rushing and throbbing in her ears.

"Andrea ?" she finally heard. It was him. "Are you alright ? You seem quite… Distressed.

\- I… I don't feel well.

\- Do you want to splash a bit of water on your face ?

\- If it doesn't bother you, Doctor.

\- Go." He smiled and gestured her. "You know the way."

She nodded and stood up. She didn't look at Will and went straight to the door that linked his apartment to his office. The atmosphere went from this cosy, incredibly nice place to a colder one. It was still fancy, just in a different way. _Looks like him,_ she realized while searching for the bathroom. One shiny, warm face. Another darker, colder.

The bathroom itself was so clean that it almost looked as if he never used it. Everything was shining, gleaming under the crude light of the neon. She glared at her reflection while she ran a bit of water not to catch his attention. She was pale, and it wasn't just the light. She looked scared. _I'm going to ruin everything._

Almost on tip-toe, she went back to the corridor and went straight to the dining-room/kitchen. This, too, was too clean. She gulped and found the book. She felt like desecrating some sacred altar when she opened it. Her heart was beating so hard in her chest she feared for a second she would fall here, in the middle of the dining room, this god-forsaken recipe book in the hands. She breathed deeply and went through the pages. _Nothing. God, nothing._ She gritted her teeth. She was going to give up when she found a bookmark. _Les ris de veau sont considérés comme les plus délicats des abats blancs de boucherie…_ And just above, in his beautiful and thin writing, _Sweetbreads._ She didn't need it to know what is was about. She breathed deeply and took her phone. _Got it,_ she wrote. And sent. She took a photograph of the book and put it back. And slowly walked back to the office.

And she heard noises – rattles, muffled noises as if a chair had fallen on a carpet. It felt like her heart stopped. She took her gun out of its holster, on her waist and opened the door. What she saw – _god, what I saw,_ was part of the things she wished she could erase from her memory. Will was standing, his back was turned, but he was frozen in place. On the carpet, his chair was knocked over. And a red puddle was slowly forming around his feet. Hannibal was facing him – and her, thereby. His hand was hidden by Will's body but she knew he was holding a knife and that this knife was stuck inside his chest. She raised her gun. He didn't move. But his eyes were all over her. _This is what the Ripper looks like._

"It was a decent plan," he said, calmly. "But you, on the other hand, are not a good conspirator, Andrea.

\- I was so blind.

\- In your defence, I worked very hard to blind you.

\- Andrea, shoot him !" Will uttered. He was gurgling. "Don't let him get in your mind.

\- Stay blind. Hide from this. I have no plans to call on you, Andrea."

She shook her head and walked toward them. Blood was flowing from Will's wound, he was beginning to collapse in Hannibal's arms. Her hands were not shivering. Somehow, her mind was clearer than ever. Suddenly, he took the knife off and Will fell down like a rag doll. She ran to catch him and only managed to prevent his head from hitting the floor. Her gun was still in her hands. Soon, blood was on her hands too. His eyes were becoming opaque. His hands were searching for her – for Hannibal, maybe.

 _He's behind me._ She spun round to face him and raised her gun again. He still had the knife in his hand. _Linoleum knife,_ she recognised. _I have to shoot him. I have to stop him from causing further harm._ What she wouldn't see was that the gravest harm he did was to her.

"I will kill you if you stay.

\- You won't," she retorted with so little strength that she sounded like a child. "I won't let you.

\- Remarkable girl. What will you do ? Shoot me with this little toy of yours ?" He smiled. Didn't move the slightest. "What was the last time you saw a dead body, Andrea ? Was it your parents' ? Your brother's ?

\- Shut up. I'm not having any of your bullshit anymore." She put her finger on the trigger. "You're over.

\- I think I'll eat your heart, sweet thing."

She didn't have time to react – in a second he was against her. The gun fired and jumped from her hands, destroying the ceiling light that broke into hundreds of little scraps of glass and rained on them. She screamed when he pushed her against the wall, but she managed to dodge the knife, only to feel her arm's skin opening. She yelped when the knife entered her shoulder. All she could see were those two eyes, like two pools of maroon ink in which she was drowning. Her knees went weak but he caught her. She tried to say something, anything, but all she could see was him. _Does death look like him ?_

And suddenly she was on the floor, half collapsed on Hannibal's chest. She hadn't heard the second shot. She hadn't heard the third or the fourth either. With an ultimate effort, she rolled on the floor and saw Will, against the wall, her gun in his hands, a phone in the other.

"Eat that," he murmured before losing consciousness.

She whined his name, then tried to crawl to him. Someone was speaking on the other side – asking what was going on. She tried to hold back her tears and took the phone. Her hands were covered in blood. Her vision was red.

"We're in… Hannibal Lecter's office, we need… We…

\- Don't quit, I'm sending ambulances. What happened ?

\- There's so much… Blood… I'm not…

\- Ma'am ?"

She yelped when the knife fell from her wound and on the ground. And the only thing she could see was Hannibal, staring straight at her. This picture too would be engraved in her memory until her very death. Because he was smiling. Because his eyes were glowing. She shed a single tear that rolled on her cheeks. It felt like a long burn.

And then it felt like nothing and it was over.


	7. IV

**A/N :** I'm inexcusable, really, I always forget to update this fic... But there it is, I'll try to be more regular now that I'm almost done with my year abroad !

* * *

 **Cherry Wine**

* * *

 **IV**

They put her on the same hand trolley than Hannibal. They put the same mask on her face. They put her in the same straight-jacket – everything to remind her that she was here because of him. _They have no idea._ She let them do. The prison's guards had always been rather polite and kind to her, they didn't deserve a scene. They even looked a bit pitiful, when they came to take her. She smiled to them and assured them it was just a part of their job.

It wasn't confortable. It wasn't really painful, but it wasn't confortable. It felt like being some kind of merchandise taken from a place to another. _Except that I'm going to the said place to be destroyed._ The State Attorney had speeded up the procedure when he'd finally regained his composure. From what she knew, it took him two days or so – poor thing. He would be there, with the senator of Maryland and the senator of California. A great family portrait, with her in the middle.

Once the prison's guards were done with her, they brought her to the hospital's entrance. There were a hundred of journalists. Cameras started to flash as soon as they saw her. She narrowed her eyes but didn't say a word. They put her in the centre of the room and both senators, John Mitchells and his bodyguards came. She stared at them all in silent. They all looked so self-satisfied, it was almost pouring all over the place. She didn't dare to look at the bodyguards. _I don't want to see that he's not there._ And if he was, she didn't want to ruin everything. _Again._

"Senator Hoover, Senator Young," Mitchells declared without daring to look at her. "Meet Professor Andrea Rochard.

\- Know, professor, that everything could stop here. You know the terms.

\- Which one of you is Senator Hoover ?" she asked. "I don't really care about you politicians, but I'm curious.

\- I am."

The woman made a step toward her. She was blond – the kind of blond you would only see in those vintage TV shows. _Pretty sure she's called Brenda. Or Wanda._ She had never heard of her, to be honest, but if she was going to leave this place, she was to leave _in a dramatic_ way. She smiled, but the mask covered her lips. Only her eyes narrowed again. The woman seemed unsettled, for a while.

"So you're my new Senator," she simpered. "Happy to have me under your jurisdiction ?

\- It's not joyfully that we're transferring you, professor Rochard.

\- Yes, _yes,_ I know, things could have gone very differently." She sighed. Heavily. "I think we've covered this quite properly. Can we move on to something else ? How is my cell going to look like ? I hope there's a view. I _love_ views.

\- Your cell is going to made of concrete," Mitchells said, overjoyed. "No windows. Nothing but your twisted mind.

\- Oh, so now my mind is twisted ? I thought Will Graham's report on my sanity was convincing."

A deep silent went through the room. She smiled again. Journalists had come for this – for the drama. For once, she was more than willing to give them. Her head turned to Hoover. She had lied, she knew a little bit about senators. And she knew she used to be a lawyer. The legal world was a little one, everyone knew each other. She wasn't a particularly skilled lawyer, though, she was just part of a gigantic law firm she used to work with, when she offered consultations in Bristol. _She knows that they're doing legal nonsense._ She could see it in her eyes. The worst that could happen, now, was that other people realized that the United States were sending a woman to a certain death without following any procedure or standards. _Too bad I'm all about the worst._ She looked around before coming back to Hoover. The poor woman was going to be in an awkward position and she knew it. And that only made it even more hilarious.

"Senator Hoover ? I used to work with your law firm, when I was in Bristol," she said in the sweetest tone. "So tell me, what is your legal analysis on the situation ?

\- What situation are you talking about ?

\- We're between lawyers, Senator. Don't quibble. _My_ situation. What _you're_ doing with me. What is your analysis on all that ?

\- You are a murderer and it's not legal so…

\- Oh god, thank you so much, we really needed a lawyer to cover that."

There were some laughs among the journalists, but not much. They wanted to record it as perfectly as possible – they wanted her to be all over the media by the next hours. Only at this precise moment she dared to look in the direction of the bodyguards. He wasn't there – but they weren't all there. _Some of them are waiting in the van,_ she remembered. That's what the prison officers said, anyway.

When she went back to the Senator, she saw she was positively livid. She almost thought she was going to collapse. Around her, Mitchells and Young were looking around, trying to get someone to do something. But everyone was just staring. Trying to make sense of what was happening. _I need to hurry, it's not going to last._

"So, let's get straight to the legal issue, will we ?" She tilted her head. Or tried to. "What is your lawyer-ish appreciation of the fact that I'm going to be detained without any judicial review of my case ? That I'm heading to one of the most dangerous prison of the United States where, oh, surprise, were sent most of the murderers _I_ helped the FBI put behind bars without any trial or judicial hearing ? How would you say that… Habeas Corpus ? Due process ?

\- Okay, that's enough, take her," Mitchells ordered the bodyguards. "Where is the syringe ?

 _\- The syringe ?_ But it's only getting better. Torture, now ? You're in too deep. I hope the journalists heard that." She laughed. When she turned her eyes to them, she realized Jack Crawford was there – Will was there as well. "Why hello, Will."

He didn't react. When they brought the syringe, she tried not to show any repulsion. _God I hate needles,_ she thought when it went inside her neck. She stared directly at Will. But once again, no reaction. As if he was looking _through her_ and not at her. She had no idea what they injected her. _A tranquilizer, maybe._ Most probably. Will probably knew that if she was going to try anything, it would be during the journey from here to Pelican Bay. _Smart boy, isn't he ?_

"Will," she said again while they were moving her toward the garage where her _limousine_ was waiting for her. She raised her voice so that he could hear. "Eat that."

She couldn't see his reaction. That was something she never knew – she never got to know if he had had any. If he had understood. All she knew, at this moment, was the weird feeling creeping through her skin. The product was kicking in already. She gulped and let them put her on a hospital cart, still harnessed, still completely unable to move. She stared at the light, on the van's roof. It was a neon, she guessed.

She couldn't hear what was going on. Bodyguards were talking about the path they would be taking. There was some kind of a chip in the van to track it, if anything was to happen. _Of course._ She blinked and heard the van's doors closing. And then the van started. And it began moving.

She started to feel dizzier and dizzier, but she had to know if Hannibal was here. So she turned her head, tried to see how was driving. There were two men – she could only see their backs. _I have to find something._ Soon, she wouldn't be able to speak anymore. It was already hard to think straight. She gritted her teeth and, in a voice barely audible, she asked.

"Am… Am I a good conspirator ?

\- No, you're not."

She smiled and closed her eyes. The dizziness then completely took her and she soon didn't feel anything but this vague feeling of freedom. She didn't hear the other guy asking what the fuck his _colleague_ was saying – she didn't see him die, either. She was already far away from this place, lost between consciousness and coma. _Lost in my memory palace._


	8. 4

**A/N :** Alright, now I'm unforgivable. In my defence, I've had a rough end of uni and summer - but still, unforgivable. Now that everything went back to normal, I'll make myself more reliable on the updates... I'll try, anyway. Thanks for bearing with me !

BlackKittyMeow : Thanks you very much ! Your comment actually reminded me I had to update this fiction. I hope you'll enjoy what comes next. As for my English, I wrote it quite a while ago so I think I will try to proof read everything now that I'm a bit more confident in English.

Bone App the Teeth : Again, thank you for your compliments. Everything will hopefully come clear with further chapters as to how Andrea became... Well, what she is now.

* * *

 **Cherry Wine**

* * *

 **4**

"I need to take a shower.

\- You don't…

\- I _want_ to take a shower," she corrected, annoyed. "Better ?"

She frowned. She'd been lying on this bed for days – she didn't even know how many exactly. With the morphine and the several drugs she had to take, she had lost all notion of time. She just knew that she was there since way too long and she wanted to move. She _needed_ to move.

Plus, she couldn't stand the humiliation anymore. Of course, Lecter was not doing anything in purpose for once ; he wasn't keeping her prisoner, wasn't toying with her, wasn't forcing her not to move. But still he brought her food, made her eat, made her drink, took care of her as if she were a child. Of course she was weak, of course she couldn't do all that by herself. But still. Humiliating.

"You're not going to take a shower," he retorted, patient like an adult dealing with some childish tantrum. "You can't stand.

\- Oh for God's sake, doctor ! I won't stay here and…

\- _But_ ," he interrupted, ever so calm. "You can take a bath. Under surveillance."

She raised an eyebrow. _That was… Easy,_ she thought. She nodded and threw away her blankets. He grabbed her and carried her, bridal style, to the bathroom. Another dose of humiliation. She gritted her teeth. She had grown eerily thinner with all the time she spent on this bed, eating only what he gave her. Her legs were weak and she wasn't even sure she would be able to sit properly without help.

The house, as far as she could tell, wasn't his. It was a fairly cosy one, with really nice features and a warm atmosphere, but it didn't feel like his own. It lacked books, art, _views._ But the bathroom was actually a really beautiful one, in the purest Pompadour style. He put her in the bathtub and was going to help get rid of her hospital dress when she frowned again.

"No, I'm doing it.

\- This wouldn't be the first time I'm taking off your clothes, Andrea.

\- All the more reason for me to do it alone," she said. "Turn.

\- You're childish.

\- I said turn."

She glimpsed a smile on his lips before he turned. She knew it was useless and that he'd seen her naked countless of time before, but it was a matter of pride. But for that too, she was too weak. Raising her arms was already too much of an effort ; trying to lift her body, even the slightest bit, was an ordeal. But she managed to do it. It took her _way too much_ time, though.

She turned the taps and watched the water flowing inside the tub. She tried to bend her knees, to move her legs. That, also, was a struggle. She felt tears growing in her eyes and bit her lips. Was she going to stay like this for the rest of her life ? For what ? _For him ?_

"You can wait outside," she almost ordered him with a raspy voice. "If I have any problem, I'll call you.

\- Don't try to stand up."

He didn't turn to watch her. He just went out. She stared at the door for a moment before coming back to her legs. They looked so skinny. She had never been a skinny girl – not too chubby either, but definitely not skinny. She let the tears silently run down her cheeks and turned the taps again when the tub got filled.

There was a mirror next to her, on the opposite wall. She didn't dare look at her reflection, at first. When she did, her tears doubled. _This is not me,_ her mind screamed. It didn't look like her. She couldn't recognize herself in this girl, in her skinny face, in her grey-ish skin, in her awful dark-circles under her livid eyes. It wasn't her collarbones that seemed to pierce her skin.

But somehow she got hypnotized by this woman in the mirror, this ghost that didn't even look human anymore. When the water grew cold around her, she did exactly what Hannibal has ordered her not to do : she tried to stand up. And she managed to do it, thanks to the towel rail on the wall, above the tub. Her knees were shaking, weak under her weight, but she managed to stand like that. Her head was furiously spinning, but she managed to step over the tub. Clinging on the nearest sink, she faced the mirror and stared at this body that didn't look like her own. She was still crying.

 _I'm like this because of him._ She had saved him, helped him escape. And doing so, she had condemned herself to be this weak version of a woman, this… Ridiculous rag doll, unable to stand without aid. _I'm not going to be weak because of him,_ she thought. _I don't need him. I never did. I don't need anyone or anything._ So she released the sink.

It worked, for a few seconds. And then everything went blurry and time slowed down. She saw the woman in the mirror collapse and try to reach the tub to stop her fall. Instead, she felt her head hitting the enamel. There was a huge noise, and the crack her head has created broke. Water flowed on her, on the floor, everywhere in the room. And she was lying there, in a semi-foetal position, staring at the roof without seeing it. Her tears made everything fuzzy, surreal. Even _him_ , when he opened the door and rushed at her side.

He was gentle with her. His hands were cold, but they were smooth. He put her against the nearest wall. He had blood on his hands. _Oh._ Her scalp was bleeding. She couldn't really feel it. She didn't feel anything, except his touch. And she didn't see anything but him, behind her tears. She was sobbing like a little girl. For a while, he didn't say anything. He just wrapped her in a towel and looked at her wound, at the bruises that started to appear everywhere on her legs, belly, arms. _So much for not willing to be humiliated,_ she thought bitterly.

"It's almost over," he simply said. "You'll be able to sit in a week. You'll walk again in a month.

\- I'm weak.

\- You are not. You're injured.

\- I made myself weak," she repeated, still crying, still sobbing. "I made myself weak _for you_.

\- And I'm grateful you did. But you're not weak."

She shook her head, unconvinced. He sat next to her, in the water, soaking his trousers wet. He put an arm around her shoulders and he held her against his chest. She was clinging to her towel, her hair dripping on his shirt. And, somehow, for some reasons, she started to feel better. Not good, just better. Her mind grew serene. Her tears dried. Her shoulder's hiccups stopped. And she just stayed in his arms, staring at the door. The water had reached the corridor. _I have no idea whose house this is, but he's not going to like it._

"I was surprised, at first," he said when she was completely done with her outburst. "But it makes sense.

\- If it does to you, please, enlighten me.

\- The FBI turned his back on you, just like Will Graham did. The day you thought you had a family, they gave up on you because they saw you as a threat.

\- Are you profiling me, Hannibal ?

\- Oh no." He laughed. "I understood that it is beyond my capacities."

She rolled her eyes and laughed with him. The whole scene was ridiculous. The bathroom was completely flooded, he was soaked, she was naked under her towel, the tub was broken and they were _cuddling_ in a corner ? But soon enough, she remembered _why exactly_ she had helped him.

When he'd escaped for the first time, everyone suspected her. _You made a deal with him : he gave you clues to arrest Buffalo Bill and you let him go !_ That was basically what they shouted at her. They had no evidence. Nothing against her but the fact that she was the only one he talked to. And everyone suddenly turned their backs on her. Will didn't surprise her, they weren't in the best of terms. The whole team ? She could understand. But _Jack._ Even him.

"If they'd believed me, I would have killed you," she said. "If _Jack_ 'd had even the slightest doubt, I would have put you back in your cell.

\- I suppose I should feel obliged.

\- You can.

\- And so can you."

She thought he was going to add some joke about the tub or the corridor's floor, but he didn't. So she just nodded and closed her eyes for a few seconds. He owed her one, definitely. But he had saved her life. So they were even – evenly indebted for each other. _Adequate,_ she judged when she rested her head on his shoulder and he started to caress her wet hair. _Adequate enough._


	9. V

**A/N** : _TWO UPDATES IN A WEEK ?!_ I know, right. I'm back, promise.

BlackKittyMeow : I'm so glad to read something like that. I really don't like when things are two obvious - especially with this kind of universe. I don't see Hannibal (let alone Andrea) as lovey-dovey types of person.

Mara-Lethe : Thank you very much !

Guest : I'm very happy you like the dialogues - they're actually my favorite thing to write. Have a good reading, y'all !

* * *

 **Cherry Wine**

* * *

 **V**

 _Fuck the FBI,_ was the first coherent thought that came to her mind when she woke up. _Fuck Will. Fuck Jack. And fuck Mitchells._ Her head was spinning, aching, burning, all at the same time and she couldn't see straight. _Again._ It felt like a damn vicious circle. Every time she thought she was escaping the FBI, it ended with her lying on a bed, unable to move.

Except that, this time, she was able to sit and look around. It was a hotel room – not a house. She was wearing a plain white t-shirt and some sweat pants. _It must have broken his heart._ She didn't dare stand, pretty certain she would collapse, and just turned on the light. It was a fairly decent hotel room. Not the most beautiful she'd ever seen, but not the poorest. When she turned her head to look at the entrance, she couldn't help but smile.

"Doctor.

\- Andrea. How are you feeling ?

\- Like I'm going to collapse and throw up at the same time. What was the drug ?

\- A mix of powerful sedatives. They went quite heavy-handed on you.

\- Tell me about it," she groaned.

He slightly smiled and came closer. Her vision was still blurry but she recognized him. Rather, she recognized _some_ features of his. He had died his hair. Probably injected a bit of Botox here and there to make himself look younger – it changed his face. Not in the best way. But it was still him, in his eyes, in his silhouette, his shape. He sat at the other end of the bed and stared at her.

Oh, she had changed too since the last time they'd seen each other. She was thinner. Paler, too. And probably looked worn out by the sedative. He had the delicacy not to tell her, though.

"That was quite a speech you offered them, back in Baltimore.

\- Glad you liked it," she smiled. "I had to throw a little drama before heading to a certain death. That would've been suspect if I had just kept quiet.

\- Though I can't help but wonder… How did you recognize me ?

\- Your eyes."

He nodded, as if he expected this exact answer. He stared at her for a couple of seconds and then opened the bedside table's drawer. He took out some pills and handed them to her with a bottle of water. She tried to guess what they were, but since she was barely able to see them distinctly, she quickly gave up. She took them and sighed. She rested her head against the nearest wall and closed her eyes. _Feels good to be free._

For a while, there wasn't any sound. It was just him and her, in the same room, trying to make sense to whatever happened. When she finally opened her eyes, it was to stare back at him. And start to ask all the questions she was dying to ask.

"Where are we ?

\- Somewhere between the Canadian border and Québec.

\- The van ?

\- Here." She frowned. "The chip, however, has probably arrived in Mexico now.

\- Are they panicking ?

\- Weak word to describe their reaction, Andrea. Terrified would be a more accurate one."

She glimpsed a smile on his lips and rolled her eyes. _As if it was important to be semantically accurate right now._ She was going to ask for more details when he took the remote controller and turned on the TV. As far as she could remember, she never saw him actually voluntarily turning on a TV on his own. _Waste of time,_ he used to say. Only fools never changed their mind, as the saying goes, and it wasn't as if he had another way to know where the FBI was scouring.

Her face appeared in the centre of the screen – always the same photograph, the one the FBI took of her when they arrested her. She looked healthier than she really was and, for some reasons, she was smiling at the camera. It was a cocky and weirdly enthusiast grin that she usually kept for her friends. _I can't even remember why I smiled so much._ When the photograph disappeared, she snorted at the sight of Mitchells. His shirt was creased, his face, grey-ish and it looked like his dark-circles were trying to actually eat what remained of his eyes. She took a look at the date written in the corner. _Two days. Fuck, were these sedatives made for horses ?_ They'd apparently found the chip in a car that was trying to cross the Mexican border. The poor owner of the car had no idea what was going on and all investigations were leading to an impasse. And they still had no idea who helped her.

"Is there anything they know ?" She laughed but stopped quickly. It awakened her headache. "I mean, anything useful and at least partly true ?

\- Not as far as I know. But I think our common friends will soon make an entrance and lead them on a path slightly more close to the truth.

\- I doubt it. Jack is on the verge of suicide and Will… Will has lost his mind. Mitchells won't listen to any of them," she sighed. "Too close to us. Too responsible for what happened.

\- I guess we should consider ourselves happy, then. They are not going to find us any soon."

She nodded. He kept the TV on for a minute or so, and when they started to repeat everything they just said, he turned it off. And silence came back. She ran a hand through her hair and crawled on his side of the bed. His eyes followed her. _They're cold._ Not usual-cold. More like _inquisitive cold_. She pretended she didn't see it but she couldn't avoid this gaze. Neither could she avoid its coldness. _Nor its meaning._

Now was the time to explain why she'd done what she'd done. Why she had let them take her – why her and not him. And why she didn't tell him or leave him the choice to yield. She gulped and lowered her eyes. She sighed again, tired but in a different way. She didn't want to have this conversation. Not with him.

"I had to.

\- I don't think so, no.

\- We were screwed, Hannibal," she retorted. "Either way. It was you or it was me.

\- It doesn't change anything. If you only had told me…

\- You would be dead by now. Don't pretend the contrary."

He frowned. In another time, another place, almost another life, she would have been scared. Right here, right now, she wasn't. Why would she ? It wasn't like he was going to slit her throat after having risked his life to get her out of Baltimore alive. But it was quite clear that he wasn't going to agree with her, whatever her arguments may be. _Like I care._

He had told her numerous times that he _would never go back in prison._ He even blatantly told her that he would choose death over jail at any time. What was she supposed to do ? She had no idea what _he_ would have done, given the chance. Maybe they indeed would have had a chance to get out alive and free of all this. But more likely, he would have decided to do exactly what she'd done. And he would have died, at some point. She wasn't going to apologize or fake regrets.

"You didn't have the right to decide for me, Andrea.

\- Perhaps, but I did it anyway." She raised her chin. "One of us had to fall, and you wouldn't have been able to rise again.

\- Oh, so now you're the strongest of us ?

\- Yes I am."

 _In this area, anyway._ But it would have been anticlimactic to add such a precision. In many regards, Hannibal Lecter was a force of nature. His mind was probably the greatest any human being ever had, the strongest as well, but it had its limits. And its limits were _this view_ he used to tell her about, _this view_ he would've given anything to have, _this view_ they tricked him with. It wasn't about a window and it wasn't about this stupid freedom the commoners would think about. It was about being free from constraints – free from those hindrances weak minds put around him, those hindrances that started to constrict his own mind, his world, _his view._ Hannibal's mind was one of an aesthete, one that couldn't stand mediocrity, indignity - one that couldn't stand limits or constraints. _Hence his… Works._

Hers wasn't. She wasn't half as bright as he was and while she certainly abhorred constraints and vexations, they didn't touch her. They couldn't. Her mind had never been free. Law had put barriers to her thoughts, guidelines she couldn't really get rid of. Then it was the FBI. Influences had constricted her mind since the very beginning of her life – she was used to it. And she could survive it for years and years. She probably wouldn't have survived Pelican Bay, but only in a mere physical way. Otherwise… _I would have let everything pass through me. And I would have remained._ Probably.

"I was wondering if you were ever going to come," she carried on with a sly smile. "Thought I was betraying you ?

\- I had no way to know, since you didn't show me the courtesy to tell me about your plan. I just needed to make sure they were not going to get their ways with you.

\- I could be vexed, doctor. I find your lack of trust greatly disturbing.

\- I am not sure you would have come to another conclusion, my dear." His eyes started to shine a bit. "Given the situation.

\- I wouldn't have come to help at all. One more reason for you not to be angry."

He smiled and moved closer to her as well. He raised a hand, probably to caress her cheek, but he stopped just before his finger touched her skin. His eyes were scanning her, probably searching for answer of questions he would never ask her. Or for some kind of sign. She took his hand and pressed it against her cheek, not giving him the chance to ask for these answers. _He'll just ask if he really wants them._ She closed her eyes for a while, unable to do anything else than just enjoy his cold touch.

She felt his breath on her neck before he kissed it. _I missed it,_ she realised. When she surrendered to the police, she thought she was going to miss him, as a person. Their conversations. The sex, maybe. But the truth is, what she missed the most was his bare presence and the way his mere touch was able to make her crave for more. She shivered when his kisses went up to her chin. She opened her eyes when he reached her lips. The kiss lasted an eternity, or what felt like eternity. She put an end to it and smiled. _I missed him._ The man under the costume, whatever the costume was. She missed Hannibal, when she thought she would only miss the doctor.

"You missed me," she joked around, trying to hide her own confusion. "That's very less vexing.

\- You do have the stunning ability to get people to miss you, indeed.

\- You're quibbling.

\- And you're only pretending that you missed me all the same.

\- Point taken." She leaned against his shoulder and sighed. "Where are we going next ? We probably shouldn't stay here for too long.

\- We're heading to Québec. We'll have a friend for dinner, there."

She raised an eyebrow. She knew no one in Québec – well, she didn't know anyone outside the FBI and Hannibal anymore anyway. She raised her eyes to try to understand what he was implying. _He's smiling._ Smiling the smile he usually kept for those who managed to get under his skin, before they, well, definitely stopped. She frowned and tried to make sense of this smile. Who… _Oh._ She laughed and buried her face in his shirt. _You sadistic murderer. Well, precisely._

"Dear old Mitchells is waiting for us in Québec ?

\- He will be having a few days-off, indeed." He brushed her hair thoughtfully. "With his tender wife and child.

\- Any way to get them out of the way ?

\- This won't be a problem."

She laughed again for a few seconds. She stopped when she felt his hands going under her t-shirt and playing with her bra strip. _He does know what he wants,_ she thought while unbuttoning his shirt. _Good thing that I do know as well._ Mitchells could wait a few more hours – he would still get what was coming for him.


	10. 5

**Cherry Wine**

* * *

 **5**

He was lucky, they said. It could have killed him. But it didn't and so he was lucky. _Or so they say._ She didn't see the luck. She didn't know what or who to trust. Jack said it was over. The evidences said it was over – Dolarhyde was dead, she'd made sure he was. The doctors said it would take time. The journalists didn't seem to want it to ever end. And she wasn't allowed to go see him. _He is too weak,_ they said. _He needs time,_ they said.

So she stopped asking for permission. She waved around her badge and she entered the room. She locked the door. And, slowly, she walked closer to the bed. At first, she couldn't see a thing except those white blankets that seemed to eat Will alive. When she got close enough, she realized it wasn't just blankets. Bandages, as well, all around his head, covering his face, hiding his mouth, his eyes, his cheeks, his chin. _Or what remained of them._ She heard one of the junior doctors saying that it looked like a sick jigsaw. That he would never look human being again. That finally the flesh reflected the madness within. Of course, he shut up as soon as he realized she was listening. He grew really pale and disappeared in a corner of the multiples corridors of the hospital.

She sat on the edge of the bed and didn't say anything for a while. _He can hear, but he can't answer,_ the doctors said. She was sure he could. He just had nothing to tell them. And she knew he was looking at her through the two tiny holes in his bandages. She forced a smile and tilted her head. She reached for his hand and gently squeezed it. What could she tell him ? That she was alive and kicking and, for some reasons she couldn't really understand, he was only barely alive and definitely not kicking ? She gulped.

She knew what they all thought. It could have been her. It probably should have been her – she was the one who did the talking, with Lecter. But he was the one trusted with Dolarhyde's case. She was deemed too fragile, too shaken by what happened with Hannibal. But still Will and her worked together on this case, as they always did. But in the end, Will was the only target. _Why ?_ Dolarhyde received information from someone, Jack said. They didn't really know from whom. _I know._ It must have been Lecter. It couldn't be anyone else. He retaliated, at last. _But not against me._

"Hi," she finally said. "The doctors said you can't speak. It's okay, you don't need to. I just want you to know that… It's over. He is dead. I don't know if you know, but… I wanted to tell you.

\- Lecter ?" Her eyes widened. His voice was croaky and he was apparently unable to really distinguish the syllables, but he could speak. "Lecter ?

\- They put him in a another cell. Smaller. No window. Concrete walls. No view.

\- You spoke…?"

She couldn't see his eyes, couldn't see his face, couldn't know what he meant. But the way he said that sounded like a threat. Or a reproach. She gulped and shook her head. Of course she didn't – she had nothing to tell him. Soon enough, she would have to go back and resume her profiling. It wasn't going anywhere and she damn well knew it, but the FBI wanted more information about it. They wanted everything she could get. It had become almost pleasant to talk with him, lately. _He almost killed Will._

He didn't say anything. She caressed his hand. She had been ready to hear it, after they took him to the hospital. She thought they were going to tell her he was dead. But they didn't. _He is alive,_ they said. And it had broken her, in a way she never thought possible. She had lost her family. She had lost friends. She was prepared to lose… Him. But he wasn't dead and she had realised how much it would have hurt her to lose him. And since then, she asked herself the same question over and over again. _What is he ?_ What was he, for her ? What was she, for him ? She never dared answer this question. She wanted him to answer it for her – she wanted to tell him she was scared. And she tried. But it didn't pass her lips. She was unable to utter it.

"Can I bring you anything ?" She smiled again, in a pretty weak way. "Some covers, books ? Clothes ?

\- No.

\- Alright, nothing then. Listen, I…" She gulped. _I have to tell him. I could've lost him !_ "Will, I…

\- You're fine."

Startled, she only nodded. _Why does it sound so… So…_ Accusatory ? She was going to take back his hand in hers when he put it far enough from her to avoid her touch. She gritted her teeth and bit her lips. She could feel his eyes… _His eye,_ she had to remember, staring at her, under the bandages. And she could tell, even without seeing it, that his stare was ice-cold. She managed to keep on smiling and shrugged lightly.

"I am. I only had a few bruises here and there, but…

\- Thank Hannibal.

\- What ?" She blinked, now genuinely dumbfounded. "What are you talking about ?

\- Lucky you. Spared you.

\- It has nothing to do with him, Will, and you know it."

She stood up and walked around the bed. He didn't need to scream to be perfectly clear. _He's blaming me for being alive._ She ran a hand across her face and shook it almost violently. She couldn't let him say this. It wasn't true. She had not been spared by Hannibal. _He did send Dolarhyde to Will._ And she wasn't supposed to be home when he came. She was supposed to be…

She closed her eyes a few seconds and gulped again. Hardly. _I was supposed to be with him. We had an appointment._ She cancelled it because she had made a last-minute reservation in a restaurant to celebrate the end of the Tooth Fairy case. She was only going home to pick Will up and force him to go out. _I wasn't supposed to be there._ She wasn't supposed to even risk anything. She was supposed to be with Hannibal. _It was his plan._

"See ?" He croaked. A weird sound followed. _A laugh. Bitter laugh._ "Feels good ?

\- You're… You can't say that, Will," she almost pleaded. "You can't blame me for not being dead.

\- How did you… Do that ?

\- I didn't do anything Will ! I just… I just spoke to him, as I'm ordered to do. I have no idea what led his twisted mind to ask Dolarhyde to kill you and not me !

\- _Spoke._ "

She suddenly felt sick. _Is it what he thinks of me ?_ Since how many time ? Why ? It wasn't fair, she wasn't responsible for any lecherous feeling Hannibal harboured for her, or any inclination he had toward her and not toward him. _I'm not responsible for being alive !_ She would have given her health for his, for him not to be there. She would have given her life for him.

 _How dare he ?_ Sickness quickly got replaced by anger. What a stupid girl she was. She should have seen that coming. The whole FBI was suspecting her of some sort of conspiracy. _I'm not responsible for all of this !_ She let out a groan and stopped in front of his bed. She leaned on the bedstead, facing him and his broken face. _He's broken, he's sick, he's weak,_ a part of her mind was trying to tell her. _He's not himself._ But he so clearly was. He so clearly was lucid. He was so clearly expressing his thoughts. It wasn't sickness or brokenness. And it was exactly what was breaking _her_.

"You don't have the right to accuse me of collusion ! I spent all these night worrying about you, worrying about your state, about your life !" She tried not to scream. _If I scream I'm going to cry as well._ She took a deep breath. "You obviously need rest. I'll come back later."

She came back at his side. _Please, just be tired._ She didn't try to take his hand again, certain he would just take it back. She tried one last time, tried to believe one last time everything they had wasn't broken, and leaned closer to him to kiss his cheek. She turned his head away, slowly. She froze and fought back tears. She stood up, stepped back to the door, unable to take her eyes off this figure of a man, this bandaged figure of what used to be a man. _Used to be my man._ Could have been her man. He ostensibly turned his head to the window, on the other side of the room. She understood. So she went out.

He was lucky, they said. It could have killed him, but it didn't so he was lucky. She couldn't see the luck back then, and she couldn't see it now. _He should have died,_ she couldn't help but think. _Dolarhyde should have aimed for the heart._ She thought nothing could be more painful that the thought of him dead, she thought _she_ was lucky. She thought nothing could be worst than losing him to death. She thought she was lucky because she hadn't. She was wrong, oh god, she was so wrong. She had lost him. Dolarhyde had taken Will away from her. He had taken _her_ Will and he had replaced him with this mere figure of a man. And this man didn't trust her anymore – this man betrayed her. Just like most of the FBI was already betraying her. She didn't go to their old flat. She didn't want to drown herself in everything that used to be true and that were now gone. She drove to the penitentiary and, for the first time since Dolarhyde had taken Will from her, she went down all the stairs and found herself in front of Hannibal Lecter.

"Tell me, Andrea. How is Will ?

\- You killed him, doctor.

\- What a shame." Smile. "But he is not dead.

\- Not yet."

She never asked the right question. Never asked him _why she was alive._ She already knew the answer. _I think I always knew it._


	11. VI

**Cherry Wine**

* * *

 **VI**

"When are we supposed to be there, again ?

\- We were supposed to be there thirty minutes ago, dear," Hannibal politely replied. "And we would have been there on time if you hadn't changed your dress three times.

\- The first time, you expressly told it wasn't formal enough. The second time, I realised it was stained and the third time, you said I looked _ten years older_ than I really am." She rolled her eyes and checked her gloves. "And you said we were not supposed to stand out of the crowd. I just obliged.

\- You are quibbling, Andrea."

She sighed and turned her head to her window. They were heading to some kind of fancy party they had, somehow, been invited to. When she had tried to understand _how_ they could possibly be invited to a party three days after landing in Moscow, he just smiled and told her he had plenty of connections. _The best way to be hidden is to known,_ he repeated. She'd given up – of course, she had.

The taxi driver changed the radio station from a musical one to a news station. She wasn't incredibly skilled in Russian ; she had lost most of it in prison and she never troubled to practice it. But her basic understanding of the language was enough for her to get the most important information. She repressed a smile. John Mitchells, State Attorney of Maryland, had been found dead in a cottage around Québec after days of research. _Would you please turn up the volume of the radio ?_ Hannibal asked in the most perfect Russian. _According to the Canadian police and to the FBI,_ she translated again, silently. _This murder may be the latest of Hannibal Lecter, also known as Hannibal the Cannibal. The FBI is still searching for his partner, professor Andrea Rochard._ Some details followed, not the most interesting. No mention of the scenery, no mention of the missing limbs. _You prude._

"This world's crazy," the driver commentated. "And those Yanks aren't even capable of catching them. They wouldn't have been able to escape _twice_ here, that's for sure.

\- Needless to say. They would be dead by now.

\- An effective way to ensure creeps like them would never have the chance to reoffend." He nodded, apparently deeply convinced of his reasoning.

 _And fire burns._ Partly amused and partly annoyed, she frowned and turned her head to Hannibal. He was smiling as if the man had just said his exact thought. _He's so much better than I am,_ she thought. The only thing she could think of was that they were a bit more efficient than they both thought they would be – they'd banked on a week or so of investigation and it only took them four days to find Mitchells. Of course, they were gone since as much time and they were out of the radar. _Still. They're too fast. Someone's helping them._

Maybe it was Will, all things considered. Maybe they authorized him to work on this case. _Unlikely._ The only case on which he was authorized to work had been hers, and only because Jack Crawford heavily insisted. And since she, well, escaped, she seriously doubted that the agency would let him work on her ever again. _Anonymously, then ?_ The FBI wouldn't listen to anonymous sources. _Maybe the Canadian are particularly smart._

"Is the radio disturbing your lady, sir ?" The driver was staring at her in rear-view mirror, looking concerned. "I'm sorry if…

\- She is perfectly fine, don't worry. Aren't you ?

\- Of course I am." For the first time since years, she gave up on her American accent and forced on her French one. "I'm concerned about our lateness.

\- You're almost there, ma'am. It's just around the corner."

She nodded and sighed. When they finally arrived, some groom opened her door and tried to help her to get out of the car. She didn't take the hand supposed to help her and, instead, took Hannibal's arm. It was inside the Puchkin Museum of Fine Arts. _I shouldn't be surprised. He wouldn't have accepted an invitation to go to some petty pub._ She took a deep breath and they entered. Some men instantly came and started to talk to him, while she started to wander in the alley. Of course, everything was beautiful – that too didn't surprise her. Women were covered with jewels. _Typical Russian women, I guess._ She, on the other hand, only wore a necklace Hannibal had bought her for the occasion and a simple pair of gold earrings. She hated this whole trend of tackiness. _Typical French woman ?_

She stopped in front of a painting. Hannibal did try to teach her some basics about art. Sadly enough, she was pretty much as skilled as a six-year old. But she knew enough of art to know that what she was looking at was beautiful. _Rembrandt,_ she guessed. She sighed and sipped her champagne. She didn't even like those parties. She always felt out of place, alien to everyone. She wasn't from this world and as much as she wanted to fit in as well as Lecter, she simply couldn't. She always felt like she was doing something wrong.

" _Tu es pensive, très chère_ ," he told her when he came back. He put a hand on her waist and looked at the painting. "Is Rembrandt guilty of throwing such wariness on your face ?

\- Why are we here, Hannibal ?

\- We must…

\- Blend in." She frowned. "I know. But it's not just about blending in. We've only been there for two days. You usually wait for us to be settled before trying to get us invited to a posh party. We still live in the hotel. What is going on ?

\- You can pretend, sweetheart, but they did left a trace on you."

They. _The FBI. Who else ?_ She gritted her teeth and turned to face him. He was smiling. Or sort of. It was just a way not to catch anybody's attention, to look relaxed. But she knew better and she only needed to look his shoulders, to feel his hand on her waist to know he was absolutely not. _How could have I been so blind ?_ He probably was like this ever since they left the hotel. And concerned as she was by her dress, she'd seen nothing. Something _was_ going on. He gestured her to let him lead her somewhere a bit less crowded and stopped in a room that was probably going to be used for dinner. The table was fanciful, complicated and a bit ludicrous, with all the gold-ish stuff that covered it. He looked around and searched for a camera. He turned so that it wouldn't be able to see his lips moving.

"Jack Crawford is here.

\- What ?" She was going to ask for more details when she realised that the camera _was_ recording _her_ lips. "What do you mean ?

\- This party is hosted by the Russian police, Andrea. He is invited.

\- Why ? He's barely… He's left it, or almost.

\- His team has arrested dozen of psychopaths," he explained with a wry smile. "And, well, as you know, he is the only remaining sane member of the said team."

She shook her head. The joke didn't amuse her. The _bare idea_ that Crawford was here didn't amuse her. And _the reason why_ Hannibal had taken her here without telling her the true reason amused her even less. She ran a hand across her face and turned her eyes away. It didn't make any sense. Why would he do something like that ?

 _Because he knew I wouldn't have come if I knew,_ she thought. She gulped and slowly turned her eyes back on him. He hadn't moved. He was still staring at her. His gaze had changed, though ; he was not looking at her. He was _watching_ her just like he would watch a child, as if he feared she was going to do something stupid. Or reckless. Or both. It wasn't the first time she was offered this gaze. And every time she saw it she wanted to slap him. She let out a bitter laugh.

"Then by all means, go ahead, tell me your plan. I'm _dying_ to know it.

\- You don't need to participate," he only said. "I actually would prefer you not to participate.

\- Participate… Participate _to what ?"_ She raised her voice. And came closer to him. "Say it. At least have the honesty to say it.

\- It is time we get rid of him. And you know that.

\- I didn't know, until now. We lived perfectly well with him around."

She had no idea why she reacted that way. She never minded what happened to the rest of her FBI team – accidents, or what looked like accidents, for the most part. Hannibal didn't like it but it was _her_ life. _Her_ work. Not his. Mitchells was a sort of common work and she let him take the lead. She didn't mind. She didn't care about their deaths. They all deserved it.

And Jack deserved it as well, she knew that. And she knew it was going to happen at some point. But she wasn't ready and most likely would never be. Erasing Jack from her life had been easy enough, after what he'd done to her. Choosing not to care about him anymore had been fairly easy as well. _It's not about not caring anymore,_ a voice whispered in her mind. It wasn't about acting like Jack had not been one of the most important persons in her life. It was about putting an end to all this. Definitively turning the page. _I already turned the page._ Or so she thought.

"I know what he used to be," Hannibal calmly added. "And I know what he still is. You just need to go back to the party.

\- And stay blind ? I think we already covered this a while ago. This is not something I can do.

\- We cannot let him investigate us, Andrea. We will never be safe until we can be sure he won't ever find us." He stretched out a hand to caress her cheek. She turned her head to avoid his touch. "We leave the country tomorrow. And it'll be over. All over.

\- You wanted to hide this from me ? You thought I wouldn't understand that you…

\- You were not supposed to understand so soon, I admit. But you were always smarter than that."

 _Shut up._ She didn't say it, but it burned her lips. She shook her head again and closed her eyes. _I already turned this page, it shouldn't matter,_ she tried to convince herself. Jack Crawfrod was _nothing_ to her. Whatever he used to be, he wasn't anymore. She didn't feel a thing for him. Just like Will, he was a ruin of something that used to be, someone she used to love. And just like any dangerous ruin, it had to be destroyed.

 _It is not true._ It was useless to lie. It was obvious enough. He wasn't no one. He wasn't a memory. Not yet, anyway. And he would never be until she finally faced the truth, faced him. To obliterate who he was, she had to obliterate him, just like she saw Will being obliterated by Dolarhyde. He had betrayed her and he never paid for that. She had accepted it because she _loved_ him. She chose to be _blind_ to protect him from her _. I can't be blind. I never could._ She took a deep breath. This page had to be turned and no other than her could do it.

"You're not doing it.

\- Dear, I am not going to negotiate this.

\- Me neither," she retorted. " _You_ are not doing this. I am.

\- No." He frowned. _Surprised, doctor ?_ "I'm not letting you.

\- And I'm not asking for your permission. If he has to be put… Aside, then I am the one to do it. And I don't care about whatever grudge you hold against him. _I am doing it._ My way. Without you. _You_ go back to the party and speak with whatever rich Russian you want." Her voice was ice-cold, harsh. "You're not turning this page for me."

It took an eternity for him to nod. The ghost of a smile floated on his lips and, without giving her time to avoid him, he bended to kiss her forehead. She didn't reject him. She didn't care. She didn't care _why_ he thought it was a good idea to steal her vengeance, to slam Jack Crawford's room's door in her own memory place for her. She didn't want to know if it was some stupid and sappy reason, she didn't want to know if it was a selfish and egotistical reason. She didn't care if he wanted to protect her or if he wanted to protect himself. She didn't care if he didn't trust her with this or didn't trust her at all.

She had to do it. Whatever the FBI had turned her into, whatever she was now, she would never be truly free from them, from him if she didn't have the strength to end everything. Herself. On her own. _Just like it began._ Jack and her. Special Agent Jack Crawford and professor Andrea Rochard. Former Special Agent Jack Crawford, now mere ruins of a golden age turned to ashes, and former rising star Andrea Rochard, now monster and wife of the devil. She didn't even see that Hannibal had disappeared. She only heard the heavy footsteps of a former friend, mentor, father.

"Hello, Jack. I almost thought you would never find me.

\- I'd rather not have found you here.

\- You're vexing me."

She smiled. He didn't.


End file.
